


Bravery is Following Your Heart

by coldfiredragon



Series: Because You Made Me Brave [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: A New Beginning, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Queer Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, I'm ignoring that finale and you should too, M/M, Q is cheesy, Reunion Fic, bravery is following your heart, idiot boys in love, not first first meetings, post-monster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 22:05:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18507997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldfiredragon/pseuds/coldfiredragon
Summary: Bravery means following his heart, and right now that leads straight to Quentin.





	Bravery is Following Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to 'Bravery Means a Lot of Things' Reading that first will help, like a lot, with making sense of this, but this can technically read on its own. 
> 
> A note, it's six months after the monster, Eliot has set up his life in Boston, 
> 
> The finale wrecked me, and I have chosen to ignore its existence save for the fact that Eliot was saved.

A week passes, and Eliot pushes Alice's impromptu visit down into the very darkest corners of his mind. If she had actually talked with Quentin, then their radio silence signifies that the only resolution they could have reached was to continue the relationship they were trying to build. It hurts. It's a crippling ache in his chest, but he has a life, and living doesn't stop because you lose someone. Eliot still has to drag himself out of bed, limp through his routine, and hope that each day it gets a little bit easier. It doesn't, but he can lie to himself and tell himself it will. 

Friday night isn't any different. He's working his bar shift, flirting and forcing smiles that feel almost natural. Ones that are so natural that the co-workers don't even seem to notice that he's a lot off his game. Eliot is laughing, pocketing a five dollar tip, then rolling the sleeves of his henley up his arms before checking what time it is on the clunky watch he would never have worn before Brakebills. He's reaching for a pint glass when he sees him, Quentin at the end of the bar, nervous and fidgeting, eyes darting to him then down to the bar top. The glass slips from between his fingers and shatters. The other bartenders go still, and the closest customers lean to stare down at the broken glass. For a second it feels like the sound has been leeched from the room, then it roars back louder. 

Someone jokes about the cost of a single glass killing the bar's profits for the night, then Drew puts a dust-pan, and hand broom between his numb fingers and Eliot drops to one knee to clean up his mess. _'Don't look.'_ he silently commands himself as he collects the largest pieces. _'Don't slice your hand.'_ a co-worker tips a trashcan for him when he raises the pan, and the sound of glass is a cacophony in Eliot's ears as it slides down to settle amongst the rest of the waste. His fingers grip the edge of the bar as he stands, and he looks forward instead of at the spot where Quentin had been. He should have anticipated that Quentin will move, because Q is right there in front of him, nervous, guilty, sheepish.

“Hey.” The word is just the right volume to carry. “I... um.” Then Quentin's eyes drop to his hands and a cocktail napkin where he's written something. The fingers of both hands tap a nervous pattern on the bartop, then he takes a breath and decides to just go for whatever he's hashing out in his head. “Look, I normally don't do this, but I just moved to Boston, and I don't know anybody here... so...” He pushes the napkin forward so Eliot can read the top. 

'You're really hot, if you're single call me.' There's a phone number, and Eliot can tell because the napkin has soaked up a few spots of spilled alcohol that there is writing on the back, so he turns it over. 'I want to start over. Just us.' Eliot reads the words repeatedly, at least six times, as he tries to process that Quentin is acting like they've never met and has just dropped him one of the most cheesy pick-up lines Eliot has ever read in his life. Eliot reaches for a napkin of his own, and the pen he keeps for credit card receipts. 

'I think you're cute too,' gets written on the paper, along with his phone number. 

“I get off around 2:30. Maybe you can meet me here, and we can go get food somewhere.” Eliot says as he folds the original piece of damp paper as delicately as possible, then looks up to meet Quentin's gaze. For a second he debates giving Q a fake name, to carry forward the charade, then decides to let Quentin decide where to take things. “But only if you tell me your name first.” 

“Quentin Coldwater.” Eliot laughs, much more softly than he wants to, and thinks of that first moment before Quentin's entrance exam, when he'd read Q's name off that little white card. Things had been so much easier when they had just been students. 

“Eliot.” He takes the glasses off and rubs his hand under his eye, at the stubborn tears he's trying desperately to hold inside. “I need to...” He gestures aimlessly around himself, at the job that he's supposed to be doing that's proceeding without him. 

“Yeah. I'll... find someplace to sit, I guess.” Quentin's eyes dart up and down the bar for an open stool. When he moves, Eliot takes a shaky breath. The whole exchange had taken less than a minute, but he feels like he's run a mile. He wants to whip out his phone and text 'I love you.' to Quentin's new number a thousand times over. It doesn't expect it to be easy, because they have so many unresolved issues, but bravery means following his heart, and right now that leads straight to Quentin. There is a mountain of trauma between them, but the last few minutes have been a better ice-breaker than Eliot had ever dreamed he'd get. The idea that Quentin has jumped cities for him makes his breath catch, and he has to wipe his hand across his eyes again. 

“You okay?” Eliot nods at the concerned co-worker whose name he's momentarily forgotten. 

“Yeah.” He slips the glasses back onto his nose, then jumps back into his job with a vigor he hasn't felt in months. Quentin's eyes stay fixed on him the rest of the night, and Eliot feels like he's on cloud nine, the solo violin, first chair, playing for a packed house of one, the only one that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Should I keep this series going? The boys are starting over from scratch. What do you think?


End file.
